Amanda Ruth

Amanda, Amanda Ruth
Amanda, Amanda Ruth
We read the paper and we pick the show
I’d meet her there but my watch was slow
She came early and I came late
We never met
It was a hell of a date
Amanda, Amanda Ruth
Amanda, Amanda Ruth
The way we met, she was a friend of a friend
They needed money and I had it to lend
She had five; she wanted ten
I gave her all my money
So I got none to spend
Amanda, Amanda Ruth
Amanda, Amanda Ruth
Amanda, Amanda Ruth
Amanda, Amanda Ruth
Amanda, Amanda Ruth
She burns her biscuits and her gravy is strange
Can’t fry a chicken in a micro-wave range
Her salt’s tasty, her sugar’s sweet
No she can’t cook
But she’s got something to eat